


Creed Aventus

by MAVLOTOV



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drinking, F/M, M/M, Other, Stabdad AU, draaaaabble?, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-18 00:35:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21519031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MAVLOTOV/pseuds/MAVLOTOV
Summary: You go out for a drink alone.
Relationships: Diamonds Droog/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	Creed Aventus

It's the smell that first catches you.

Unfortunately, you know by now, after frequenting this lounge enough times in the past few months, that staring isn't exactly smiled upon. You know the usual clientele of this fine establishment weren't exactly law abiding citizens. You know that this lounge is neutral ground, so any family is welcome. You know this doesn't keep differing families from brewing in their own spite. You know that the ones who always dress in head achingly saturated green were prone to be the ones who throw the first punch, or sink the first knife, or fire the first bullet. 

You also know the booze is strong and not too terribly expensive. So you learn to keep your eyes on your drink and nowhere else.

However, you can't ignore how quickly the smell hits you. It's instantaneous, the moment you catch someone sit right next to you out of the corner of your eye. You've trained yourself damn well, and your eyes don't flicker upwards, however the enticing scent tempts you. Fruity, and rich. Definitely expensive, you think, trying to place it. Some kind of citrus... Ah. Bergamot. Blackburrant leaves... apple? A touch of jasmine, some birch... a musk base, to be sure. Probably a man, then. You're sure your nose is scrunched up as you think.

The sound catches you next.

As the figure speaks up, greeting the bartender by name, your suspicions are confirmed. The voice is low and deep, with a startlingly thick accent. Russian, definitely. Odd, for this area of this city. A tourist, maybe? No, he wouldn't know the barkeep by name, were that the case. You tap your fingers on the polished surface of the bar as he and the bartender talk, curiosity overtaking you.

The man orders his 'usual', and you're sure your face gives away your disappointment. At this point, even knowing what he drank would have satisfied you. Your eyes flicker to the side as his drink is placed in front of him, despite your best efforts, and it comes with some results. Some kind of martini, you think. 

He takes a sip, and you feel eyes on you.

You can always feel when eyes are on you in this place, of course, but you rarely feel something other than drunken malice or spite behind the gazes. It's unfamiliar, and strange, and uncomfortable, and a lump is quickly forming in your throat. A few seconds feels like an eternity, and the universe finally decides to punish your curiosity in the form of him seeming to adress you.

"Am I bothering you, dear?"

His tone is.. apologetic. That alone surprises you, some of the surely visible tension rolling off your shoulders. You finally turn to look at him, and your eyes go big as quarters.

Frequenting this place as often as you have, you've grown very used to the more surly individuals of Midnight City. You've grown used to crooked noses, blodshoot and bulging eyes, snarling chapped lips, mussed up hair tucked under hats, and scars marring the rough faces adorning all of it. You were no stranger to hunched figures, crude gestures, and bloodstained suits. You could handle all of this. You kept your head down this long, after all. What greeted you when you turned your head was absolutely none of this.

He was handsome. Obviously. High, defined cheekbones, not a trace of hair or scarring across his cheeks. His hair slicked back in a perfect shiny mass, gentle but ever so intense eyes, one perfectly groomed brow quirked as if to punctuate his question. 

Hook, line, and sinker.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, knuckles turning white from the grip on your drink and trying to muster the effort to answer his question.

"No, not, uh, not at all." 

"Are you sure?" He turns on the stool to face you fully, and it takes every ounce of effort in your body to keep your eyes on his face. "You seem rather uncomfortable, and have since I sat down."

"No, I'm just, uhm." You give a nervous chuckle. "I was. Trying to place your cologne. The scent is very familiar, and then you uh, you talked, uh, and It.. caught me off guard."

A soft smile spreads on his features. His laugh lines deepen just a touch with the change in expression, and for some reason it makes more tension melt off of you.

He seems to think for a moment, fingertips tracing the stem of his glass as he studies you.

"Are you drinking alone?"

"Always do."

You want to run the moment the words escape your lips. 'Yes', you tell yourself, 'tell the strange man at the bar crawling with mafioso that you're alone. Wanna mention you live alone, too? How about that no one would realize you were missing for at least three days?'

"Ah."

He pauses, and each second of silence is agony as your mind pours over every cruel thought that could possibly be running through his mind at your brazen show of stupidity.

"What's your name, dear?"

You answer him instantly, and he repeats it, slowly, before taking another sip of his drink. It's only when you go to mirror him, that you realize your own glass is empty. You hum, a nervous smile pulling at the corner at your lips as you trace your finger along the rim of the glass. This is noticed instantly, much to your distress, and he chuckles with that awful, handsome laugh again. 

"Was that your last of the night, or do I have the pleasure of buying you a drink?"

You give a pained, startled hum, tapping your finger on the rim of your glass. 

"Well, I," You find yourself shrinking into your chair, "I, I wouldn't be, opposed, to uh, another. A drink, I mean!"

The man gives you an amused look, brows knit together as he tilts his head.

".. Oh!" You're sure that even the ripest tomato would be jealous of the hue of your cheeks. "Gin and tonic."

No verbal response is given, he simply turns to the bartender and informs them that they heard you. Your drink is made quick work of, and slid towards you with... a wink. That didn't exactly bode.

Ah, well. Might as well be tipsy if your fate was sealed. 

"Thank you... uhm," You take the drink and give a sheepish look. "I don't know your name."

"Dimitri Durov." 

Well, it didn't immediately turn on sirens in your mind. 

"Dimitri. It's nice to meet you."

"The sentiment is mutual."

He leaves no room for an awkward moment, not a single beat missed, before raising his half-finished glass to you. You stare at the glass, and then him, before timidly raising yours as well, tapping it to the rim of his. He seems pleased.

"To good company."

You both drink, and he makes no attempt at hiding the way his eyelids flicker as he looks your form up and down.


End file.
